"And how is your pore dear mamma, and your dear papa, Master
Ernest.?" said Ellen, who had now recovered herself and was quite at
home with my hero. "Oh, dear, dear me," she said, "I did love your pa;
he was a good gentleman, he was, and your ma too; it would do anyone
good to live with her, I'm sure."
Ernest was surprised and hardly knew what to say. He had expected to
find Ellen indignant at the way she had been treated, and inclined
to lay the blame of her having fallen to her present state at his
father's and mother's door. It was not so. Her only recollection of
Battersby was as of a place where she had had plenty to eat and drink,
not too much hard work, and where she had not been scolded. When she
heard that Ernest had quarrelled with his father and mother she
assumed as a matter of course that the fault must lie entirely with
Ernest.
"Oh, your pore, pore ma!" said Ellen. "She was always so very fond
of you, Master Ernest: you was always her favourite; I can't bear to
think of anything between you and her. To think now of the way she
used to have me into the dining-room and teach me my catechism, that
she did! Oh, Master Ernest, you really must go and make it all up with
her; indeed you must.
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